


a red river of screams

by ineffablesociety



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: :(, M/M, Missing, Sad, Tw mentions of violence, tw blood mention, tw mention of alcohol abuse, tw mention of self harm, tw ptsd, tyrelliot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 17:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17943866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablesociety/pseuds/ineffablesociety
Summary: After Elliot's death, Tyrell begins expressing himself through art. Trigger warning for mentions of death, PTSD, blood, self harm and alcohol abuse.





	a red river of screams

**Author's Note:**

> the title is lyrics from the song "underneath" by adam lambert. i'm sorry if this is a little much but i couldn't stop thinking about and toying around with the idea. enjoy :)

_“Elliot, no, stay with me. Stay with me, älskling, please.”_

_Elliot coughed and gripped on to Tyrell as tight as he could. He felt his strength slowly fading away as warm blood stained his clothes. His vision was blurry as he looked up at Tyrell._

_“Ty-Tyrell... I can't...” he forced out. “I l-love you, so m-much... Please- just... Continue on.” He was gasping for air at this point. Tyrell could see the light leaving his and the color leaving his skin._

_Tyrell couldn't bring himself to say anything. What are you supposed to say when the love of your life is dying in your arms? I'll miss you? Please don't go? Nothing you say is going to bring them back. He continued to hold Elliot and put pressure on his wound. He wanted to keep the freezing rain off of him. He pressed a light kiss on Elliot's lips. Part of him felt happy when Elliot kissed back, even if it was weak. Part of him wanted his suffering to end; that part wanted Elliot to slip away and stop the endless bleeding and agony._

_Silence fell over the pair. Within minutes, Elliot's gasps became more frantic. Tyrell knew his time was up. “I love you,” he whispered. He blinked and swallowed the lump in his throat, letting his tears fall freely. “If it's your time to go... Then go. Don't suffer, dear Elliot.”_

_Elliot looked up at Tyrell. He struggled to keep eye contact with him. “I love you, too...” He closed his eyes and relaxed into Tyrell's arms. He listened to the beating of Tyrell's heart and did his best to ignore Tyrell's cries. He tried to stop himself from crying. He didn't want to be sad. He knew he would be leaving Tyrell, the love of his life, behind, but he was finally leaving this bitch of a planet._

_He wanted Tyrell to know that._

_“T-Tyrell...” Elliot choked out. “Don't be sad... I-I'm not going to su...suffer anymore. I love you... so much...” He looked up at Tyrell. He took one last, ragged breath._

_Tyrell didn't even have time to reply. He couldn't say a worked. He just looked down at Elliot and let out a small sob. He held Elliot closer to him, not paying any mind to the blood staining his pale blue shirt. The rain seemed to come down even harder than before. Tyrell heard the sirens of ambulances getting closer. It was too late. Elliot had already went limp in his arms. The rain felt colder than before. The world lost its light._

_Elliot was gone. There was nothing Tyrell could do about it._

-

Tyrell jolted awake, crying and covered in sweat. _Elliot!_ He felt like screaming. He brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. He looked beside him and saw the bed was empty. _Why couldn't it just be some sick dream? Why did it have to become my reality? Why couldn't I save him?_ He started crying even harder and desperately wiped tears from his face.

Tyrell could remember it all like it was just yesterday. He could still hear the gunshot, the sudden scream, Elliot's pain-filled gasps and labored breathing, the rain, the sirens. He could still see the color slowly draining from Elliot's skin, Elliot's eyes losing their light, the blood oozing out of the wound, the bright, flashing lights, all like deranged stained glass portraits in the back of his mind. He wished he could forget that night. He wished it was just an awful nightmare. He wanted Elliot, his true love, back in his arms.

_Stop crying. Stop crying. Stop crying._

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_He's gone._

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_There's nothing you can do._

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_You're wasting your time._

Tyrell felt a cold nose and soft, warm licks on his hands. He uncovered his face and looked down. He saw his and Elliot's dog, Flipper, nuzzling his hands. She was wagging her tail slowly. She kept trying to get Tyrell to move his limbs so she could sit in his lap. He moved his arms, and she crawled into his lap. She laid there, letting Tyrell's tears hit her fur as he stroked it gently.

Tyrell looked to the window and saw a dark blue reflecting on the blinds. Tears continued to fall down his face silently. The sun was barely even creeping over the horizon. He glanced over at the digital alarm clock on his bedside table. It read 4:02 AM. He sighed; he was so sick of sleepless nights. He knew he looked awful. He avoided mirrors and crowds like the plague. He couldn't face their stabbing eyes and judgemental glares.

After a few minutes of petting Flipper, Tyrell picked her up from his lap, set her at his side, and climbed out of bed. He pulled on his robe. He wrapped it around his thin frame. I know what it's time for. He walked out of his bedroom silently and headed towards the place he usually went when things didn't make sense anymore: his study and art room. Flipper followed close behind. The bell on her collar jingled gleefully. Too gleefully.

Tyrell opened the door to his study and art room. He stepped in and closed it before Flipper could slip inside. She stood right outside the door and whined loudly, only to be ignored. He only kept her out so she wouldn't chew anything up - again.

Tyrell flicked the light switch and cringed at the sudden burst of light. _Jeez, when will I learn?_ His eyes eventually adjusted to the light. He walked over to the corner to retrieve his latest project. It was a mostly finished painting of a stormy night as if it were being seen through a fogged window. It was meant to represent his current, foggy state of mind. He had worked on it for the past week. _An entire week with interrupted sleep? A new record..._

Tyrell began to set up his station. He rummaged through the cabinet his project was leaning back against and retrieved: assorted cool and neutral colored acrylic paints - purples, blues, greens, white, black - an easel, and a palette. He dragged all of his supplies to the middle of the room and set everything up in its place. The easel sat in front of a chair, the palette and paint sat on a table next to the easel, and the canvas rested back against the easel.

Tyrell had taken up painting soon after Elliot's death. It caused very little stress, and he could express his emotions efficiently without harming himself. His therapist had suggested it after she found out about his habitual self harm and alcohol abuse.

At first, his paintings were morbid mixtures of red, black and grey, to represent the demons in his mind. As time passed, the pain numbed a bit, and he began to create different things. The pain was never gone - and he assumed it would never go away - but it eventually got easier to cope with. He could at least get out of bed each day. He could finally paint different landscapes and cityscapes. He could breath without feeling greedy or guilty.

Tyrell slipped his robe off again and hung it on the back of the chair in front of the easel. He already felt tension leaving his body, and he hadn't even touched the canvas. _It's working._ He then sat down and scooted closer to the easel. One by one, he put swatches of the colors he had grabbed earlier. He grabbed a fan brush - a long brush with medium-length, flat bristles placed in the shape of a fan - and mixed dark blue and white.

_The first stroke of the night..._ Tyrell bit his lip and leaned forward, putting his complete focus on the canvas and the fan brush he was using in front of him. This was always the hardest step. It usually determined the way the night would go. If he was pleased, the night would be easy. If he wasn't, he'd worry about perfection the entire time. _You could always mess up - or you could do great. You have to do good. Elliot is watching... Hopefully._ He shook his head to silence his thoughts. He started at the top. He tried short, quick strokes to add the desired, rough texture. It gave the picture the foggy effect he was going for. He smiled in triumph. He sat up straight and bit his lip slightly.

_I hope Elliot can see this, wherever he is now, Tyrell thought. I hope he knows I miss him dearly, and everything I do now is for him._ Tyrell closed his eyes for a brief moment and took a deep breath to keep himself from crying. He focused on the task at hand, trying to let his emotions fuel his creative mind. _Just like she said. Art always comes from pain._

As the time passed, Tyrell found himself becoming lost in his painting. Every stroke of the brush came as naturally as breathing. He instantly knew just where to add black, white, purple, blue and all the colors in between. By the time he was pleased with what he had done, the sun was peeking over the horizon. Time had flown by with very little notice. 

_It's perfect._ Tyrell stood up from his seat and backed up. _I created this._ The painting looked even better far away. The black faded into the blues perfectly, and the purples and blues blended wonderfully. The highlights were in all of the right places. The occasional, random streaks of white made the painting look like it was being viewed through a cracked and scratched window. It wore the scars of life on its sleeve.

_Now time for it to dry. Just a week or two. I can thrive that long._ Painting also gave Tyrell a more obvious reason to live. He always told himself he had to live long enough to see the painting after it was completely dried. Since it usually took a week, or two, or three, and he was constantly starting new projects, he was absentmindedly extending his life span. It had become natural to him.

Tyrell made sure all the caps on the tubes of paint were screwed on tightly. He grabbed his palette and took it took a sink in the back of the room. He rinsed it in hot water before scrubbing it with soap. The paint didn't come off completely - it never did - but it was good enough for it to be dried and put back in the closet. 

Tyrell put the palette and paints back in the closet in the corner of the room neatly. He moved his easel and canvas over to a place by a window. He placed the chair in front of the closet, out of the way. He looked around the room. _Everything is in its place. Perfect._ He grabbed his robe from the back of it and wrapped it around himself. A wave of exhaustion washed over him, and he yawned. He wrapped the soft fabric around himself tighter.

He then acknowledged Flipper's whining from outside the door. He stretched before walking over to the door. He opened the door enough for himself to exit the room. He stepped out and closed the door behind him quickly. Flipper stopped whining as soon as she saw him. 

Tyrell walked back to his bedroom. It was 6:00 AM by now. You could tell by how far the sun was above the horizon. He took his robe off and set it at the end of the bed. He then pulled the covers back and climbed in, snuggling into the pillows and blankets and closing his eyes. He rested against the bed limply. His body relaxed for the first time in hours. Flipper jumped up in his bed and laid beside his head. He reached up and scratched her behind the ears, opening his eyes slightly to see her.

_One day, I'll get a complete night's rest._

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One day, I'll be able to hear his favorite songs without crying.

_One day, the pain will fade away into a dude throb in the back of my mind._

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_One day, I may find someone new._

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_That day is not today._


End file.
